


Pieder Oneshots

by Neumhuire



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: AU, M/M, Oneshot collection, Porn With Plot, Porn Without Plot, Take Your Pick...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-04-25 03:39:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14370123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neumhuire/pseuds/Neumhuire
Summary: A collection of Pieder oneshots. Many of these are crack and can be enjoyed as stand-alone fics, however many take place in the Comrade & Confidant verse and you will likely enjoy them more if you're familiar with the C&C series.Please note that these are meant as fun quickies for me so the quality is not necessarily indicative of my other writing.





	1. Index

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Follow me on [Tumblr](https://neumhuire.tumblr.com/) for even more shenanigans! :D  
> 

> Chapter 2: An Unfortunate Disguise  
> Summary:  
> Shortly after the events of C&C I the smuggler asks Piett to accompany him on a mission. Agreeing might have been a bad idea.
> 
> WARNINGS: NSFW, crossdressing (sorta?)
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 3: Death Squadron Reacts  
> Summary:  
> A peek into the minds of Vader and Piett's prior comrades shortly after the incident at the gala. Req-fill for an Anon on tumblr.
> 
> WARNINGS: n/a
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 4: Coping  
> Summary:  
> Piett and Vader are both left reeling after an attack.
> 
> WARNING: ventfic, major-character death
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 5: Consolation  
> Summary:  
> Piett's nightmares return with a vengeance, Vader does his best to console him. Req-fill for Laivaaja.
> 
> WARNING: hurt/comfort (reader beware -snort-)
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 6: Sufficient Impairment  
> Summary:  
> Once finally alone with Vader during a family vacation, Piett puts a rather nefarious plan into action. Req-fill for PurpleTop on Tumblr.
> 
> WARNING: NSFW
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 7: Failure  
> Summary:  
> An alternate take of what happens after the battle of Endor in the C&C verse.
> 
> WARNING: major-character death, angst, hurt/comfort, OOC maybe kinda'
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 8: Something Rather Important I  
> Summary:  
> In which Piett neglects to mention something...
> 
> WARNING: crackfic, AUs of AUs
> 
>  
> 
> Chapter 9: Something Rather Important II  
> Summary:  
> A prequel to 'Something Rather Important.'
> 
> WARNINGS: prequel of an AU of an AU


	2. An Unfortunate Disguise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after the events of C&C I the smuggler asks Piett to accompany him on a mission. Agreeing might have been a bad idea.
> 
> WARNINGS: NSFW, crossdressing (sorta?)

For the past year Piett's life has been a seemingly unending stream of surprises. From his imprisonment, to returning to Coruscant, to having dinner with Lord Vader's children, to becoming the dark lord's consort. This particular surprise, however, is one he could have done without.

Over the course of the last several months, ever since the incident at the gala, he and Solo have been on far more amicable terms. Thus when Solo requested that Piett accompany him on a small mission he had agreed.

Vader and Luke were off on some force related business- what harm could it do to get out and stretch his legs again? See a bit of action?

He should have known better than to trust the smuggler...

The plan had appeared simple enough: infiltrate the crime-lord's base of operations on Nar Shaddaa, retrieve the hard-drive (the exact nature of the drive and its contents are 'above his pay grade,' as Solo had put it), and exit the base unnoticed.

Unfortunately they had been noticed as soon as they set foot in the building. Apparently the codes Solo had paid for (won, in a bet) only silenced the alarms instead of disabling them.

Thus he and the smuggler found themselves in a cell similar to the one Piett had occupied in the rebel garrison, stripped of their weapons and any means of comming for help. _Hopefully these bouts of imprisonment don't become a recurring theme._

Solo paces in front of the bars with his thumbs hooked in the back of his pants, leerily watching the gamorrean guard stationed in the hall.

Piett huffs from his post on the back wall- propped against it with his arms folded over his chest.

The other man gives him glare.

"Look, I didn't know, alright?! It's not my fault."

He quirks an eyebrow in response. "I could have told you anything won in a game of sabacc was going to be useless-"

"Well then what do you propose we do now, _admiral_?"

Piett sighs through gritted teeth, stepping up to the bars and peering out at the guard. The boar like humanoid is dozing. He didn't notice any others when they were brought in by the rodian thugs, though it is unusual that there aren't more.

"We might as well try and get out now. They don't seem to realize who we are or what we were after- some small bit of luck. If we can slip by the gamorrean unnoticed we should be able to find an exit before-"

"We gotta' get the drive first."

Piett grits his teeth again, curling his fingers into his arms to keep from strangling Vader's wouldbe son-in-law. "Attempting to complete the mission now is insanity! We need to leave and come back with-"

Solo continues his pacing. "Leia needs that drive, I promised her I'd get it."

"Leia never wanted you to come in the first place." The smuggler walks between him and the bars, brushing against him, and Piett steps back. "And stop interrupting me."

The other man stills and turns, giving him another glare.

"If you want to leave when we get outa' here, fine. Leave. I'm going to get what we came for."

With that Solo starts feeling around for loose paneling on the wall behind the electronic lock, all the while mumbling something about the inefficacy of Imperial officers.

 _Remember what you told Vader: 'you're not actually going to kill him, for Leia's sake, so let it be.'_ He's almost regretting his own advice.

"I promised Leia I would keep you safe, I am a man of my word."

The smuggler manages to pry up a crumbling piece of plastiwall and starts pulling out wires. Solo fumbles with them for a minute. Then Piett pushes him aside.

"Hey-"

"The fact that you were able to break into the shield generator at Endor is nothing short of a miracle."

Solo gives an irritated grunt but doesn't interfere.

Several minutes later they are slipping out of the cell, padding across the duracrete barefoot (their shoes had been taken along with their weapons, holsters and coms... for what reason Piett can only guess). The hall around them is the usual kind of unpleasant- grimy and decrepit. Music drifts down from the casino and nightclub above them.

The guard does not stir as they sneak by, but Piett still feels an unpleasant sense of foreboding as they exit the detention area.

 

*

 

"Are you sure this is the way to Baruk's office?"

"We're not going there yet- gotta' make a pit-stop first."

Piett follows the smuggler into an empty dressing room. His nose crinkles at the smell of stale sweat and other unsavory things. The room is mid-sized but the ceiling is low and it is packed full of costumes, mirrors and the belongings of the performers.

There's a crash above, then much boisterous hollering. The words to the music are discernable now, and he cringes.

"What sort of club is this?"

Solo looks up from the pile of fabric he's searching through, a grin plastered on his face despite his hurried movements.

"Hey, live and let live. That's my motto." Piett refrains from heaving a sigh, not wanting to breathe in anymore of the place's stink than necessary. Solo laughs. "Kriffing hell, you're almost as prissy as his lordship is."

"We are not _prissy_ , we just possess a characteristic that happens to elude you entirely."

The smuggler looks at him again, holding up a garment. "That being?"

"Dignity..." For a moment Piett doesn't realize why Solo has bothered with pile of clothing, but as the man throws the garments he's holding across a nearby chair and starts shrugging his shirt off understanding begins to dawn. "What are you doing?"

"We're gonna' have to walk through the club to get to the drive. Don't exactly look like guards or patrons now do we? So that makes us the entertainment."

Piett blinks at him for a long moment, watching as he pulls on a cheap broad-striped shirt that shows too much skin.

"I am _not_ wearing that."

"Of course you're not- you're wearing this." With that Solo throws a swath of black fabric at him. He catches it, wrist banging into plasticine clasps in the process.

He holds it up. It is a chincy, ornate belt with cloth draping from the front and the back- more skirt than loincloth. He curses inwardly as he feels his cheeks heat, not wanting to give the smuggler the satisfaction of knowing he's gotten under Piett's skin but scandalized by the mere idea of wearing such a thing.

"Absolutely not." Piett looks up to find Solo donning an eyepatch. "You're going to get an eye infection. What in the outer-rim are you wearing?!"

The smuggler smirks, tossing a pair of boots and more bundled fabric at him before motioning to himself. "Pirate."

Piett doesn't catch the rest of it, just drops the skirt with blatant disgust. Then he notices the somewhat familiar cap and rank plaque.

"Is... is that supposed to be an officer's uniform?"

"An officer with a side job."

Solo is still grinning like a madman. Piett moves to one of the racks lining the walls, intending to find something more reasonable.

"Look, I would've worn it but the boots don't fit. You're not going to be able to find anything else."

He thumbs through the outfits- obviously all intended for females. He might be slight enough to fit into them but he is certainly not... _endowed_ enough up top to avoid looking ridiculous. What's more they all show even more skin the thing the smuggler threw at him.

"This appears to the lady's dressin' room, we're lucky we found what we did. Just put it on and let's go going before we get caught." The smuggler throws up his hands in a shrug. "Or you can stay here and I'll let his lordship know ya' didn't want to come to the party cause' ya' couldn't find something to wear."

With no small amount of cursing Piett returns to the pile of black clothing, undoing his shirt and pulling off both it and his undershirt.

Solo turns away from him (perhaps the man does possess a shred of decency after all) and holds up some unfortunately tight and revealing tan pants of his own. Good riddance.

Piett pulls on the mockery of a top first- styled like one of the military uniforms he was so accustomed to, but lacking about seventy-percent of the garment, revealing chest and abdomen while covering his shoulders and arms. Then he pushes his pants down and dons the skirt, summoning every shred of self-control he possess. It's obviously meant to be worn without undergarments, but he'll just have to hope his black boxer-briefs don't ruin the 'look' too much.

_Krif this. Krif Solo, krif his godforsaken missions and his incompetent plans..._

He stops himself from smoothing out his clothing, knowing in this case it won't do any good. Then he steps into the black boots (laughably cheap, literally coming apart at the seams) and picks up the ridiculous, wrinkled little black officer's cap.

When he dares return his gaze to Solo the man is biting his lip to keep from laughing. Piett walks over to him, mouth set in disapproving grimace.

Solo is going to get pink-eye. Piett's going to get lice. They both look utterly ridiculous.

Then the smuggler shoves a pair of gloves at him. They feel sticky to the touch. Piett drops them immediately. "No. Absolutely not."

"Fraid' showing too much wrist is against regulation admiral. Guess it's a good thing Chewie took that trip to Kashyyyk after all; I don't think he would have fit into that lil' number." Solo grins, obviously thrilled with his displeasure. Piett forcibly refrains from cracking the man across the jaw.

"C'mon, we gotta' go before anybody comes in here. Can't just stand around and look pretty."

 

*

 

They manage to make their way into the main lounge area without being noticed. Piett isn't sure how to 'blend in' in such a disguise, so he settles for staring at Solo's back and refusing to make eye contact with any of the patrons.

The guards ignore them, so at least their efforts weren't entirely pointless.

A few male sentients jeer at them as they pass. Surprisingly there are quite a few females in the place as well, all unfortunately handsy. To get to the next lift the smuggler leads him between a rowdy group of them and a wall. Piett resists the urge to smack their prying hands away as he passes.

Once inside the lift Solo punches in a number and the lift doors close.

The other man gives him a look. "Oh c'mon now, it's not that bad..."

Piett glares at him. "Remind me not to help you ever again."

Solo throws his hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Sheesh. Don't get your skirt in a twist."

The lift doors open and the smuggler steps out with a cheeky smirk. Piett seethes in frustration but still follows.

Apparently the maps Solo had acquired are more accurate than his codes were, and they manage to avoid detection by guards or by security cameras. Before long they are standing in an opulent, gold and red office. Solo begins looking through the desk for the drive, Piett checks the shelves.

The rest of the club had been rather banal. This room's only characteristic of note is its gaudiness. Piett far prefers the minimal, brutalist halls of the Executor to all the bright yellow metal and velvet.

He pulls a flimsi book out of the shelving (merely a decoration, obviously unused for decades), searching for a hidden compartment or some other way to hide the drive

A key-card falls out of the book. He picks it up, scanning the room, looking for a safe of some sort. There isn't one. On a hunch he moves towards the desk and motions for Solo to help him.

"You think it's under here?"

"Forcing guards to regularly move a piece of heavy furniture seems like something a pompous toady like Baruk would do." Solo takes hold of the other end of the desk and they both grunt with the effort of moving it.

As expected there's a square panel in the floor and a key-card reader.

Piett quirks an eyebrow and hands the key-card to Solo. "I suppose it really is lucky you brought me instead of the wookiee-"

There's a crash from out in the hall and quiet cursing in rodian. Solo's eyes go wide (one still hidden underneath the eyepatch) as he pushes the key-card in. "Sounds like we've got company..."

The panel opens and the drive is there, along with detonators and blasters. The smuggler pockets the drive and throws him a blaster.

Then they're running back out into the hall towards the lift, firing on the inept little band sent to apprehend them. Piett blasts two in the head, missing one shot and instead hitting the rodian's shoulder. A gran lobs a thermal-detonator, but the the throw goes long and lands harmlessly behind them, blowing up the entranceway to the office.

Solo smacks the gran over the head with the butt of his blaster, throwing a detonator of his own as they enter they take off down the hallway to finish off any remaining pursuers.

Within seconds they're back in the lift. There is a momentary surge of relief at their small victory. Both him and the smuggler catch their breath in the silence of the lift and check the charge on their blasters.

"There's going to be more waiting for us."

Solo shrugs. "Yeah, probably-"

The doors open once more to reveal the large room, now empty of patrons, and a circle guards pointing blasters at them.

 

*

 

A few minutes later the guards have them kneeling with their hands on their heads on top of one of the raised daises. _Well we're certainly the entertainment now._

Reelo Baruk, the fat rodian crime-lord, stands below them several strides away, flanked by his thugs. His insectoid eyes seeming to shimmer with glee as he holds up the drive they just confiscated from the smuggler.

Based on their conversation Piett expects that they _had_ realized who he and Solo were when they were thrown into the cell after all. Baruk had just been curious about what they were after, and therefore allowed them the opportunity to escape.

"...Jee kehau whao uba bla kava Jee yoieu tah? Haku doth dah fa da uba dodi caiot gee banag hee koudane?"

Solo shrugs again, feigning indifference. "Look Reelo, I don't know what's on it that they want. I just do what I'm told-"

"Uba upee! Upee ulwan! Jee lwaa gee uba-" The crime-lord jumps when one of the grans behind him drops a tangled belt of detonators. Baruk curses, chiding them for their carelessness and bemoaning the lack of competent employees these days.

It's all the distraction Piett and Solo need.

Piett drops to one hip, kicking the legs out from the rodian closest to him. The sentient bellows in surprise and fires, the blast hitting one of his comrades square in the chest. Solo ducks and then twists away from the shot his own handler fires. It leaves a singed hole in the striped shirt he's still wearing, but does no damage.

Solo grabs the blaster rifle out of the rodian's hands and kicks him in the gut, sending him flailing backwards.

They both jump off the dais and run at Baruk. Piett knows he should ignore the drive, just make a break for the nearest exit, but their prize is _so close_...

The smuggler fires expertly, taking out the guards nearest to the crime-lord and Piett reaches for the drive Baruk still holds, winning the short tug-of-war with ease.

Solo makes a break for it, yelling at Piett to follow. Baruk screams pitifully in their wake, barking nearly incoherent orders. Piett's lips twitch into a smile despite their perilous situation and his itchy costume.

They manage to avoid being caught as they dash through hallways and storage rooms, though just barely. Piett can't bring himself to care about the line of bodies they leave in their wake, and he knows Solo doesn't either.

Finally a back exit comes into view. Blast doors in a delivery area that open up onto the streets of Nar Shaddaa. Most of the sentients in this area are simple workers, not guards, but there is one guard-

Piett notices the rodian raising his blaster before Solo does. Without thinking Piett charges at himsending the shot wide as he careens into him. He stumbles and looks up, ignoring the rodian's grasping attempts to get a hold of him, and sees the blast doors beginning to close.

Solo is already almost through them and isn't looking back.

His decision is made in an instantaneous flash of desperation, and he lunges forward, sprinting for it. It will be close but if can just

The seams on his right boot give and his ankle twists painfully as the tread slides on the smooth duracrete. He goes down hard, smacking the side of his skull and his palms against the ground.

When he lifts his head his ears are ringing. He catches only a glimpse of Solo's horrified expression before the blast doors slam shut.

 

*

 

Piett is kneeling out on a landing pad, twenty or so guards standing around him, hands in binders behind his back. His ears have stopped wringing but he feels every scrape and bruise from when he hit the floor earlier. The scant fabric he still wears had offered no protection, nor does it offer any protection from the wind now.

Nar Shaddaa, the so called 'smuggler's moon,' might have been beautiful if it were not so filthy and run down. The place seems comprised almost entirely of back alleys, seedy buildings and perilous gangways across urban chasms. In the lower levels the heat is stifling, but up here on the landing pad the wind bites.

Reelo Baruk paces in front of him. From what Piett can gather they have decided to try an make a trade: him for the drive. His thoughts turn bitter as he wonders if the smuggler will think his immediate freedom is worth the price of whatever the drive contains.

Piett refrains from pointing out that Solo might have already found a way to break the encryption and copy the contents. He's kept his mouth shut since we was caught again- no use in goading one's captors.

He resettles himself and his back cracks, knees aching. _I'm far too old for this. The only missions a man of my age should be going on involve multiple squads worth of backup and an committee approved strategy. I should be on Coruscant writing my papers, not acting as a substitute for a kriffing wookiee-_

All at once he feels the already cold air in his lungs turn to ice, a pleasant, freezing burn. He tries not to let his relief show on his face.

The hum of a ship comes into earshot, and the _Falcon_ drops into view almost immediately. It comes to rest above the landing pad with fluid grace- that is until the repulsors peter-out prematurely and it drops the last few feet onto the durasteel.

Baruk barks orders in rodian. His men raise their blasters as the boarding ramp drops. Black boots and the drape of armor-weave comes into view, then Vader ducks out from under the _Falcon_.

Baruk squeals - actually squeals - and almost tumbles backwards. Several of his guards lift their blasters, a handful firing in panic. In that same moment Vader raises an empty hand, almost leisurely, and the guards are forcibly turned so that they are shooting at each other. Several fall dead, the rest drop their weapons.

Vader's rich baritone speaks in fluent Huttese. "Ateema, ateema, dotkot nobata dayan che wiheaye jotke bkoha. Uba koee hocan jot tah lumpa nem..."

The crime-lord bows, still retreating as Vader steps towards Piett with measured strides. "Mah lorda! Mah yicei bamauasa mee doptlauang, jeejee cha bla-"

"Do you think me so stupid as to believe your lies? Enough. Leave us." Vader gestures dismissively and Baruk shrinks back as if struck.

The guards begin leaving. Vader reaches him and motions again, the binders dropping from his wrists. Piett stands, legs jelly from the holding the kneeling position so long. As the dark lord lays a hand between his shoulder blades and directs him towards the _Falcon_ Piett notices his eyes doing a quick once-over of his outfit and he feels his cheeks heat. _Of all humiliating situations to be rescued from..._

"See pacmhanaduee tee mee lhola... uh, jeejee gee dotmay da wa bargon caiot doth woy-"

Piett feels Vader's flare of irritation through the bond as he answers. "Our only deal is this: him in return for your life. I would advise you not to question my _generosity_ any further."

With that they're heading back up into the belly of the _Falcon_ , Baruk still whining pitifully behind them. Piett can hear Solo cursing and rambling to himself all the way in the cockpit. He looks up at the taller man and gets a sly smirk for his efforts.

 

*

 

Several weeks later, late one evening, Piett exits the fresher after a shower to find Vader nursing a glass of Bourdeshi wine in the office attached to their bedroom. It is the same wine that had seemed to have an unusual effect on him that first night after Piett returned to Coruscant.

Piett draws near (with only a towel wrapped around his waist) and Vader lifts his gaze to him, pupils blown and lids heavy. He knows he should let it be, should simply ask Vader to come to bed or better yet leave him with his wine and his thoughts.

Instead he asks a question, patting his hair dry. "What are you thinking about?"

The muscles in Vader's jaw work before he answers. "You looked so fetching in that unfortunate disguise..."

Piett goes still. Vader's lips pull into a smirk.

They have not spoken of the incident since it happened. Vader had left him to change clothes and treat his own injuries in the crew quarters of the _Falcon_. No comment about it, no questions... until now. He had noticed Vader's eyes on him at the time, how his gaze had flitted across him and lingered. He'd been too uncomfortable to pay it much mind. Afterwards he had been more curious about Vader's unexpected arrival (apparently he had attempted to com them after his and Luke's mission was complete, and decided to intervene when there was no answer. He had tracked down the _Falcon_ and been waiting for Solo when he returned).

How does he feel about Vader bringing it up now, like this? He's not sure. He hadn't liked the outfit, certainly hadn't approved of the quality, but if Vader enjoys such things it would not be so horrid to

Vader hums in amusement, rising to his feet and setting his wine glass on the desk.

"So loyal... so willing." Piett narrows his eyes, retracting some of his amiable thoughts towards the idea.

"I didn't know you liked that sort of thing."

"I expect I would enjoy a great many things with you that I would not under any other circumstances. Seeing you flustered pleases me greatly."

Piett feels his cheeks heat as they did when he put the outfit on three weeks ago. "What an unkind thing to say."

Vader's hands go to his hips, nose brushing his jaw as he dips his head down. _Caught. Held. Safe..._

"I disagree." Vader kisses his neck. Only light pressure over his pulse, the barest hint of teeth. "You needn't recreate the outfit unless you would like to. All the same, it did please me. I wanted to force you down on the landing pad and have you there, in front of Baruk."

The words are so atypically crass and the image so shocking Piett makes a reflexive, wordless noise in answer. He reaches for Vader's tabard, curling the fingers of both hands into it on either side of the dark lord's broad chest.

He understands the appeal, but he knows Vader too well. Knows how possessive he is. "No, you didn't. Not really. You'd never want to... to share me like that."

Vader sucks at his neck. Piett twists around to direct his mouth lower, where the marks he inevitably leaves will be covered. Somewhat covered, that is.

"True. Though _you_ do enjoy me laying claim on you in public, don't you?"

"Stars-" Piett sucks in a breath. His pulse hammers in his ears, the thought conjuring up an entirely new set of images to send his mind racing. "I'd- we'd never actually-"

"No." Vader steps forward, forcing him back towards the bed. "But it is still an entertaining idea, is it not?"

Piett bites his tongue to force down his answering whimper. Vader turns him rather forcibly, causing Piett to lose his balance. He ends up catching himself with his hands on the mattress. Vader's hips press against his backside and Piett willingly climbs onto hands and knees.

Vader follows, the bed dipping with his weight- one knee pressed into the mattress and one foot still balanced on the floor. _So graceful even when he's drunk-_

"I am not drunk. Though I will admit Bourdeshi liquor does affect force-sensitives more so than other forms of alcohol." Piett feels Vader's chest rumble with the words against his back.

Vader grinds against him, the line of his hardening cock discernible through layers of fabric. _Dry humping? Another first. Of all ridiculous things._ He swallows, pressing back against Vader's pelvis.

The man's heft and warmth on top of him is enough to make his voice falter, despite his efforts. "Then how do you act when you're actually drunk?"

"It's only occurred twice. On both occasions I fell asleep." Vader sucks a mark onto one of his vertebrae, then turns his head to rub his scarless cheek against his back like a felinx kit. The action makes Piett inclined to insist that Vader really is drunk (on only one or two glasses of wine, no less), however the fact that the dark lord does that often anyway precludes it from being evidence.

Vader's hand goes back to his hip, pulling down the towel around his waist. The reason for his penchant suddenly becomes obvious: the prosthetics. They can feel pressure but not the intricacies of touch. Piett should have realized it months ago

He cries out as pressure suddenly materializes directly against his prostate. The invisible, frictionless tendrils alternate between feeling like fingers or some spherical toy. Within seconds he's panting and trembling, bucking back against the man behind him in desperation. Desperation to have him physically inside or desperation to have the overwhelming sensation of the tendrils lessen, he isn't sure.

The dark lord bites at the bottom of his shoulder-blade. Piett keens, reaching for the hand pressed against the mattress beside his shoulder. Vader splays his fingers and Piett threads his own overtop of them.

Vader moves to undo his flies. Then he presses them flush again, cock trailing a drip of pre across Piett's inner-thigh. Then Piett hears the container of oil being uncapped and knows Vader summoned it with the force. Dumbly he thinks to himself _such a wonderfully vulgar use for telekinesis._

Finally the tendrils relent. Through the haze of pleasure and overstimulation a question forms in Piett's mind. He speaks between soft moans and pants, his own cheek now pressed against the comforter. "Do you- do you get anything out of- doing that? With the force?"

"Yes. Both the enjoyment of your reaction and the sensation of it through the bond."

Of course he experienced the feedback loop of the force-bond, just as Piett did. Where Piett could vicariously feel Vader's sensations, Vader could do the same. For some reason that thought hadn't really occurred to him either. Perhaps because he had assumed a man of Vader's dominant nature would not enjoy being... penetrated, as it were-

Piett catches his thoughts before they can wander any further. It wouldn't due for Vader to overhear something that displeased him and ruin the mood. Though he doubts Vader would be unhappy with the direction of his musings given his words.

Slicked leather probes at his entrance, and he moans as the digit slides in. He shivers from the cold intrusion, rolling his hips backwards to take him in up to the last knuckle. Vader's cock jerks against his leg. Piett feels his own cock twitch in answer and grunts.

Vader's patience in taking his own pleasure is infuriating, especially with his sensations from the bond teasing Piett.

"C'mon, krif me- please-" He whines when Vader bites him again, not quite drawing blood but certainly a reprimand.

"Language."

Another pang of irritation. "You didn't mind the, hnff- the first night."

He is pleased with himself when it takes Vader a moment to form his rebuttal. "An exception for extenuating circumstances."

Piett almost snorts. Though he is more than a little impressed Vader can still manage to form complete sentences.

The man sucks another hickey onto his back and adds a second digit. He resigns himself to riding the other man's fingers for a few minutes, though he's more than ready to put an end to the teasing. The prosthetic fingers are hard, feeling larger than flesh and bone ones would, but he doesn't mind. The leather of the gloves is almost preferable to skin.

Then, finally, Vader withdraws and aligns himself, both knees moving to the inside of Piett's own. He presses only the blunt head of his cock in and pauses, adjusting his position.

Piett tries moving backwards onto his shaft but Vader's tendrils still his movement. He can take it no longer. "Ah- no! No more teasing, please just-"

Vader presses his weight against Piett's shoulders, and his locked elbows give, leaving him pinned. He notices the black fabric still draped from Vader's shoulders and realizes the man failed to remove his cape. _Why in the outer-rim-_

He moans when Vader slams into him, pressing himself flush against Piett's backside. The dark lord quickly sets a ruthless pace, slicked cock thick and perfect on every thrust. Not for the first time Piett regrets that it took them so long to get to this point, _what a waste of such fantastic flesh._

Vader purrs and takes hold of his wrists, durasteel unyielding in its grip on him. He moans again, too pinned down to meet Vader's thrusts or do much of anything except sing the man's praises. Vader dips his head down to the back of his neck, the raises flesh of his scars tickling the sensitive skin of his nape.

Then something strange happens. Piett's vision blurs and the perspective shifts, he screws his eyes shut but the image remains. He looks down at himself clothed in a much nicer version of the costume, sans the hat and top. The long train of black fabric has been pulled up carelessly, pooling over the small of his back and on the bed.

His fingers twitch when they make contact with the soft fabric of Vader's cape- no, with the inky swaths below him.

With a wrenching breath his eyes open, and he's back under the dark lord being bred mercilessly, one hand fisted into Vader's cloak. Those had not been his thoughts.

He's too far gone to think about what happened - surely that was vivid a glimpse into Vader's thoughts, perhaps Vader had done it on purpose - he only bows his head into the mattress and moans as the crescendo builds. A flush of pride colours his skin when he notices Vader panting, breath hot against his neck. _I'll never understand why you want me so much, but I am glad you do._

Vader keeps thrusting, maintaining the rapid pace for longer than any ordinary human would be able to. But finally the other man groans and presses in hard. The feedback-loop of the bond almost makes Piett spend as well as his pleasure crests.

Piett can feel his Vader's cock jerking. Slick dries on his skin as Vader's seed drips out of his entrance. The dark lord purrs against his ear. Piett's legs are trembling, soft moans and whimpers leaving his throat. He's so close, so close but Vader is motionless. Just a few more thrusts and he would have come first-

Vader's tendrils are on him all at once, dragging fingertips over the head of his cock and creating that intense pressure against his prostate again. His body goes taught in climax, the orgasm all that much sweeter due to Vader's teasing and the pause at the end.

Vader still has hold of his wrists. In the aftershocks Piett fights against his grip with no actual desire to get away. He just wants to feel the dark lord's strength. The other man hums against his ear, amused.

He undoes his cape and takes Piett's discarded towel out from under them, moving them both onto their sides with one arm wrapped securely around Piett's waist. He slips out a bit, but not fully.

Once he had realized Piett liked him to stay as long as possible afterwards he seemed more than willing to oblige. Piett has noticed he softens less quickly than anyone else he's been with, or heard of for that matter, presumably because of the inhuman force-abilities.

Piett takes hold of Vader's wrist, simply enjoying the rush of endorphins, the soft texture of Vader's clothing and his body-heat. Eventually Vader slips out of him and resettles against his back, nose pressed against his scalp.

"I do want you." Piett's eyes open, brow furrowing. Vader's voice is quiet and uncharacteristically gravelly.

"What?"

"Your thoughts, earlier. I do want you. This isn't..." The man trails off. Piett feels an emotion trickle through the bond that he can't place.

Vader's loose tongue and uncertainty are both unique. Unsure what to say? Or unwilling to show weakness? Vader has spent a lifetime in disguises of his own, ones far more difficult to cast off. Regardless Piett finds every new chink in his armor endearing. It's not exactly new information at any rate. Vader is not the type of man to lie, and Piett is hardly worth the effort of manipulation.

He decides to go with levity in answer.

"Are you sure you're not drunk?" There is a flicker of amusement, but Vader's suddenly pensive mood does not lift.

"Perhaps. I want to explain my reasons to you but an adequate answer is escaping me."

Piett chews on that for a long minute. "I think you've already explained all you can. We are men of action."


	3. Death Squadron Reacts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Req-fill for an Anon on tumblr.
> 
> WARNINGS: n/a

**Admiral Prittick**

The retired admiral is sitting in his rented room when the holonews flashes up an image of Admiral Piett. He stills, setting aside the form he was working on. It is his third request to be made an admiral in the newly-formed New Republic Navy.

As he watches the stream his mouth falls open. _The sith lord and Piett?!_ The scandal is almost too much to bear. Vader had never had regard for rules or protocol but this is… disgusting. How long had it been going on?

All at once it clicks into place. Piett’s unexpected promotion. How many ranks had the captain jumped? Five or six? _Absolutely ridiculous._

And here he sits begging for scraps from the New Republic, dishonorably discharged for insubordination after Endor. Meanwhile Piett hangs all over Darth Vader’s arm! What hypocrisy! Why should they be above the rules when he hadn’t been? What fairness was there in that?

Vader had claimed his overthrow of the emperor was justified because their glorious leader was an ‘immoral tyrant.’ Yet Vader himself was no better. Partaking in such things as murder and sodomy. _Disgraceful…_

Piett deserves whatever injuries he gets. Divine punishment for his lasvascious behavior. With a huff he changes the channel and leans back against his chair. He picks up his datapad again, gives the form a final once over and hits send. It pings back after only a moment. The resolution center has blocked him due to him ‘spamming’ them.

He throws the datapad and flinches when it smashes into the wall.

 

*

 

**Lieutenant Venka**

Venka almost spits out his nerf steak when the stream comes on. A few of the officers around him

in the mess-hall glare, but their gazes quickly return to the screen.

 _Kriffing hell Piett. You refused to promote me because we were friends, but you had cozied up to him yourself to become admiral? Really?_ His teeth grind in his jaw and he takes a swig of his drink.

He hadn’t fared badly after Hoth, or Endor for that matter. He’d managed to get reenlisted with the New Republic. Yet despite his relative good fortune he still feels as if he hasn’t reached his full potential. One thing or another always gets in the way. He tries to work hard regardless if he’ll reap the benefits he deserves or not. It seems unfair that Piett got so much handed to him while Venka himself got nothing. Finding out Piett had only been promoted because he was having relations with their commander only makes it worse!

Of course that doesn’t mean Piett had been a bad leader. He’d been a good one, better than Ozzel anyway. Death squadron had been most effective those last two years with him as admiral.

What had Piett done to get Vader’s attention like… like _that_ in the first place? There were rumors about Vader having lovers. Nobody ever seemed to take them seriously. The dark lord had been nothing but a faceless reaper to all of them for so long, it’s strange and somewhat disgusting to think about the idea even now.

In spite of everything he bodes neither Lord Vader or Piett any ill-will. Surely Piett couldn’t have gotten injured that badly with the dark lord standing right beside him?

He shakes his head and returns his attention to his meal.

 

*

 

**DV-692**

News of the Supreme Commander’s new consort and the attack on him comes via word of mouth. Opinion of this development varies greatly among the troopers.

Most of them are indifferent. Lord Vader is no longer their commander, the 501st now serves the New Republic and answers to the Alliance generals and the chancellor.

Hypothetically DV-692 understands the reason for all the upset among civilians. As far as the masses are concerned Lord Vader and Admiral Piett’s behavior was immoral. In practice he can’t bring himself to care.

The one time his squad had accompanied the both of them on a mission he had noticed nothing amiss. Whatever they were doing hadn’t interfered with their ability to lead, so what did it matter?

 

*

 

**Major General Veers**

The night of the acid attack Max is glued to the holostream. He’d kept an eye on Firmus and Lord Vader’s dealings with the New Republic. Not that there has been much information on Firmus up until now. Watching from afar as he tries to sort out his own future.

He’d tried to reenlist with the New Republic, but he had wanted to continue the walker project. They had refused. Since he couldn’t take his AT-ATs with him then he’d figure something else out. He wasn’t going to invest himself in another government project only for it to be swept aside in two decades.

And there’d been the issues with his Zev to deal with too.

He runs a hand over his face, trying to push the thoughts of his eldest son’s defection from his mind. He’ll borrow trouble for a little while. Not that sitting here waiting to hear about the attack on his friend is helping him feel any less powerless.

Firmus’s relationship with their commander had been less of a surprise than it should have. Not that Max isn’t unhappy about it. He’s frustrated he never put two and two together before. In hindsight it was obvious- Firmus was the only one of them Vader ever really respected. Vader had favored multiple officers, but Firmus had always been the one he asked for input, the one he wanted accompanying him on missions. _Though that was probably because they were plotting high treason._

He flinches at that. Why hadn’t they told him? He could have been trusted. Firmus should have known that.

With a sigh he runs his hand over his face again. He’s happy that Firmus’s made it out of all this on top but he can’t help feeling betrayed. His frustration and unhappiness don’t stem from disapproval but something else entirely.

After another minute he goes for the bottle of brandy he’s been lugging around for a year and a half. A gift from Firmus. _It’s going to be a long night…_

 

*

 

**A FEW MONTHS LATER…**

**Admiral Piett**

Piett has his feet propped up on the sofa-table when Vader walks in. Coming back from wherever it is siths go in the early evening.

He hits enter on the keypad and his last message whizzes away through the datanet, couriered along various satellites to a distant planet. With that he lets the datapad fall back onto his knees with sigh.

Vader tilts his head and pauses on his way towards their bedroom. “What were you working on?”

Piett grimaces a bit, knowing that Vader can sense his nerves. “Admiral Prittick messaged me- he wanted something, of course. Apparently the New Republic is treating him unfairly. After I replied to him I thought I should check in with some of our old comrades.”

He lifts his gaze from the blackened screen to Vader’s face and sees the man quirk a disapproving eyebrow.

“What?”

“You’re inviting disappointment.“

"It’s not about me being disappointed. I was friends with some of the men we served with, I’m sure they feel I betrayed-”

“They have no right to judge you after all you have done in service to the galaxy.” Vader steps forward as he speaks and stands behind the chair across from Piett. His hands coming to rest on the back of it. Piett narrows his eyes.

“Everything I did was in service to _you_ , not the galaxy. We’ve discussed as much already. They have reason to feel I betrayed them.” He sighs and quirks an eyebrow in return, unable to resist getting a jab in. “I know you’re only trying to save me discomfort. Forgive me if I don’t think you’re the best person to take advice from in this matter.”

Vader considers him in silence for a long moment. Piett thinks that’s the end of the conversation but then

“Do not misplace your loyalty Piett.”

His brow knits in confusion. “Pardon?”

“You jest, but I too once had many friends that fought beside me. Most people are not as loyal as you and I are.”

“Veers is loyal-” As soon as the statement is out of his mouth he feels strangely guilty for it, though he does not understand why.

Vader chuckles darkly. “You don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?” The dark lord rounds the chair he stands behind, moving to loom over him. Piett cranes his neck back to maintain eye contact.

“Veers was terribly fond of you.”

Again his brow knits in confusion- then realization dawns. “What? You don’t mean- no that’s ridiculous. Max loved his wife, may she rest in peace. And he’s not… not into men.”

His cheeks heat and he drops the Vader’s gaze, shaking his head.

The other man 'hmms’ in amusement. “As I’ve mentioned before some thoughts ring loudly through the force. Yet despite their volume I doubt the major general was aware of his own indiscretion.”

Piett swallows. There’s a thousand veiled meanings in his words. Veers is lucky he never realized his own feelings. _You wouldn’t have tolerated competition. Not that it would have been a competition at all…_

The moment ends as quickly as it began, and Vader turns away. “Do what you will, I would not presume to interfere. But do not suffer their opinions. I have acknowledged death squadron’s service as was fit. You owe them nothing.”

With that Vader exits to their bedroom, tabard flowing behind him with undo pomp and drama.

Piett chews on the realization that his closest friend of several years had an unrequited… what, crush? Such an absurd idea. _Grown men aren’t supposed to stoop to such childish things._ Belatedly he realizes the nature of his and Vader’s own pining. He decides he should probably forgive the general his shortcomings.


	4. Coping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something horrible happens.
> 
> WARNING: ventfic, major-character death

 

 Piett is in a meeting when it happens- his force-bond with Vader suddenly shrieking in anguish. The sensation is overwhelming, a sucker punch to the gut from the inside out.

He stumbles forward and grips the table. His knuckles go white. There is a long pause as the people around him wonder about the sudden lapse in the report he was giving. Before any of them can begin speaking their coms start going off.

Piett is already out the door and running down the hallway.

 

*

 

For a long minute after jumping into the cab Piett refuses to check his datacom.

He knows bad news is inevitable. Can already _feel_ what has happened thanks to his connection to Vader. Scrolling through the messages and the reports as they come in does nothing to belay his growing dread.

A terrorist attack. Many injured, many dead. Vader, Leia, Han and several other officials had been at the scene. None of the attackers survived- all were violently executed by the dark lord. _Stars… let this be a nightmare._

The cab drops him off at a med-center, the same one he had gone to for his burns. Initially he had told the driver to head south-west, but as the messages had rolled in he had learned where they were taking the injured. There’s too much commotion for the cab to get close so he ends up running the rest of the way to the entrance.

When he gets to the door the guards don’t want to let him in, added security to prevent a follow up incident at the med-center. He rattles off one of his official clearance codes and presses past them. Mercifully they don’t pursue him.

The ride in the lift is torture. He ignores the nurses and medical droids, heading towards Vader’s signature with single-minded focus, trying not to let his mind wander-

He shoulders past another guard blocking a door and steps through to find Vader standing in front of a window, still as a statue as he stares out into the distance. When the dark lord makes no move the guard leaves and the door slides closed behind him. Vader’s silhouette is so familiar that a momentary swell of relief floods Piett’s veins, only to be immediately replaced by the barrage of Vader’s emotions.

He swallows. Not knowing what to say. Still hoping against hope that he’s somehow mistaken.

His cautious steps forward are greeted with the creaking groan of the force, Vader’s tendrils coiled in on themselves and writhing. His cloak is missing, tabard torn and speckled with blood. Piett wants to touch, to comfort, knows how foolish that is and how _dangerous_ -

“Don’t…” Vader’s voice doesn’t crack, but just barely. That one word unspeakably raw.

Piett jerks to a stop and drops the tentative hand he had raised back to his side. The dark lord still stands perfectly still, arms crossed and fingers digging into his own prosthetics. Piett’s eyes flit from his hands up to the profile of his tensed jaw.

The door across from the one he entered through opens and Han appears, hair disheveled and face contorted in grief. Vader turns towards the smuggler, uncrossing his arms from over his chest. _He might as well be baring his own throat._

Han’s yelling is incoherent, Piett half expects him to go up to Vader and start wailing on him, as useless as that would be. Vader might actually let him.

“…You bastard! All your kriffing power and you couldn’t even save your own daughter! Shewhat do I-” With a gasping sob Han turns away from the taller man and sinks to a crouch, running his hand through his hair.

Piett is numb for the moment, watching the tragedy play out in front of him with detachment that will evaporate as soon as he is alone. Vader’s face is blank but Piett can feel the helplessness, the pain, the guilt and self-loathing.

After a minute Vader strides away. Piett doesn’t follow, acutely aware that the other man doesn’t want him to. He sets his jaw and moves towards Han, hoping to offer what little comfort he can.

 

*

 

Fourteen hours later - around 0300 hours - he steps into their home and leans back onto the door after it shuts behind him. He scrubs his hands over his face as he takes a shuddery breath.

He’d helped Han make immediate arrangements. Helped him talk to Jacen and Jaina. It didn’t begin to scratch the surface but it had been something. He’d wanted to do more, to stay, but he also hadn’t wanted to interfere.

They had already known their mother was dead when Han and Piett had gone to collect themthey had sensed it. The hardest part had been seeing their tear-stained faces beg for their grandfather. Piett had told them their grandfather was very upset but would come see them as soon as he was able. But in truth he’s terrified that Vader won’t be coming back either...

He knows better than to go looking for him, or to try and com him, but he fears what the man will do. He tries not to imagine what Vader’s death would feel like through the bond. With another shuddery breath he wipes the drying tears from his cheeks and goes for the three bottles of brandy still in the house. After a moment’s consideration he grabs the bottle of Bourdeshi wine as well.

He pours an extremely generous glass of the brandy, then watches the rest of the assorted liquids gurgle down the kitchen drain. He’ll regret this later. That’s why he’s doing it now. A couple thousand credits down the pipes is a small price to pay to keep him or Vader from starting something that they won’t be able to stop.

He’s never seen Vader drink when he’s unhappy before, at least not the Bourdeshi that actually affects him, but it’s not worth the risk.

After his preparations are done he goes to his chair and sinks into it, nursing his brandy and trying to remember Leia’s witty, laughing features instead of her form cold and lifeless on a med-bed. He’s not sure exactly when she’d become a daughter to him to, but it had happened. He should have told her as much. Should have taken more liberties. She’d always said he was too formal.

He wants to com Vader. He wants another glass of brandy. Most of all he wants to wake up and for her to still be alive. He knows he's not going to get anything he wants.

 

*

 

The force wakes him with all the gentleness of ice water. He jerks his head up from the back of the leather chair and his gaze immediately lands on the dark lord, standing a handful of strides away with his hands braced against the counter and head dipped low.

Piett’s so relieved to see him that he feels guilty. He shouldn’t be relieved- he should feel nothing nothing except sadness and loss.

Vader doesn’t move as he stands, or as he approaches. The other man is still dressed in the ruined tabard. Piett now notices the melted gloves and the cuts across his face he hadn’t before. _You tried. You did everything you could but it was too late. She was already injured by the time you got to her._

Vader swallows - perhaps hearing his thoughts - and says in a quiet voice, “I do not know how to cope with this.”

Piett’s mouth twitches into something that is not quite a smile. A softening of his features and nothing more.

He raises a hand to Vader’s forearm, lightly rubs over the material that covers the prosthetic. Checking to see if the bottled rage he senses will be provoked further by contact. Vader tenses but does not lash out or recoil.

“You _don’t_ cope with something like this. Nobody does.” Vader looks at him with that still unnervingly blank expression.

He pulls one of Vader’s hands away from the counter. Thankfully Vader allows him to. Piett steps up against and threads an arm around his waist. When Vader sinks to his knees Piett does the same.

If it were any other situation Piett would marvel at having the most powerful man in the galaxy clinging to him, face pressed into his neck. As it is he only savors the cathartic nature of their shared anguish.

Piett can feel Vader’s tears on his skin but other man is still and silent in his arms.

Words make their way out before he can stop them. “I was afraid you were going to kill yourself. I’m glad you didn’t. Jacen and Jaina need you.”

Vader huffs a breath of pained, self depreciating laughter against his neck. “What good am I to them.”

Piett sets back and takes Vader’s jaw in his hands. Studies his features, the now ruined mask of unfeeling. “You can’t save everyone.”

A twitch, the flash of more pain across his face. The durasteel hand that’s fisted into the fabric at his hip tightens.

Piett swallows, following Vader’s train of thought. So many he couldn’t save. The ever present fear of loosing even more. Piett directs Vader’s head down with his hold on his jaw. Vader lets him press their foreheads together, noses bumping.

“I can’t promise I won’t leave- but if I do leave you I’ll die knowing you did everything you could. That will have been enough. It was enough for Leia. Let it be enough for you.”

They both inhale, sharing breath. Piett traces his thumb over the scars on Vader’s cheek. Though he can still feel the depths of pain and loss through the bond he can also feel a strange sense of peace. A heavy weight minutely lessened.

It’s not enough, but it’s something. He’s glad he was able to give at least that.


	5. Consolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Req-fill for Laivaaja.
> 
> WARNING: hurt/comfort (reader beware -snort-)

_The foliage around Piett passes by in a blur as he runs through the trees and brush, not caring about the sharp branches that leave cuts across his face and arms. His mind is already a mile ahead of him in the approaching clearing._

_The trees grow sparser. His panting breath sounds in his ears but he doesn't slow. A hill rises ahead of him and he scrambles up it to survey the expanse of dry, dying grassland._

_His gaze immediately lands on a black and glittering form against the ochre ground and he sprints forward again, tripping on the loose rocks scattered across the other side of the hill._

_The final yards take far longer than they should. Time is warped and it feels as if he is running through wet sand._

_As he draws near to Vader he hears the almost roaring, crackling screech of the glass wings. At least what remains of them. The breadth of one is gone entirely, leaving only a jagged stump. The other is broken, twisted painfully and missing many feathers._

_More feathers fall and disintegrate into crystalline dust as he steps forward, mouth open in horror. The glittering he had seen from a distance had not been the wings, but all the blood. The dark lord's kneeling form already soaked through with maroon and still bleeding_

_And Vader's eyes, those clever, soulful eyes filled with with nothing but disappointment as they look at him._

_Vader mumbles something, his usually rich voice hoarse. Resigned. He can't make out the words-_

 

*

 

He starts, gasping for breath. His nightmare certainly would have continued if not for the insistent blaring of his com.

Piett sits up and tries to still his trembling, glancing at the clock. Well past 0200 hours. With another nauseous spasm of terror he realizes someone comming him this late could only mean bad news.

He reaches for the device and thumbs the button. It's Leia. They both speak at the same time.

"Firmus are you-"

"What's wrong?"

A pause. Leia doesn't sound upset, only worried.

"Nothing is wrong. I was going to ask you the same thing, I sensed you were in distress." Piett swallows, a sour mixture of relief, embarrassment and lingering fear pooling in his gut. Before he can form a response Leia speaks again. "You were having a nightmare weren't you?"

"My apologies for waking you at this hour-"

"I'm still at headquarters, don't apologize. Was it about father?"

Another trill of fear that he attempts to tamp down. He's unused to having to interact - if only over a comcall - so soon afterwards. He hasn't collected himself fully. It's disconcerting.

"Yes..."

Her nod is almost tangible. Piett stands and goes to the window, resisting the urge to pace. It's been a long time since he's been so affected by the nightmares.

"Father's fine. I would be able to sense if anything had happened to them. They'll be back tomorrow. You don't need to worry." Another swallow.

He looks over the Coruscanti skyline. "Thank you, Leia."

"You're welcome. Now get some sleep."

"Considering you're still working I don't believe you're in any position to be giving that advice." She hums warmly.

"Fine, I'll go home. We'll speak tomorrow Firmus."

"Goodnight."

The comcall ends as abruptly as it began, and Piett finds himself alone again. The sky is an empty, navy backdrop to the burning red and yellow lights of the metropolis. While he is grateful for her efforts in truth she did little to ease his unrest.

With a sigh he goes to the fresher to replace his sweat-soaked nightclothes, then grabs his datapad and heads to the main room. He won't be able to sleep so he might as well do something productive. Something to keep his attention off the ruined image of Vader still hovering there in his mind.

 

*

 

Around twelve hours later he finds Leia and himself standing in the hangar once again, just as they had when awaiting Han and Luke's arrival. They usually don't bother with the welcoming committee anymore, but Piett had been too anxious to wait at headquarters. His demeanor has

obviously unsettled Leia as well, hence her presence.

They don't speak. Leia's gaze flits between him and their surroundings, her brow knitted.

He'd been useless this morning at headquarters, far too distracted and sleep deprived. Leia had forced him to sit out of the meetings he was scheduled to attend. He hadn't objected. All the papers he busied himself with last night will have to be redone.

Vader is close enough for Piett to feel his presence, and the sensation of information flowing through the bond like a limb reawakening. Vader's questing tendrils seem concerned. The mindtouch eases his nerves a good deal less than it normally does.

Then the hangar doors above them open, and the tie-advanced, x-wing and the _Falcon_ drop in one by one.

As soon as the repulsors are off Piett is moving. He hears the ramp of the Falcon lowering behind him and sees the hatch of the X-wing pop open out of the periphery of his vision, but he pays neither things any mind.

The hatch on the tie opens as well, and Vader appears in a flurry of shadow. The man drops to the ground immediately, landing more lightly than he should be able to.

Piett comes to a halt a stride in front of him, wringing his hands to keep from touching. He's nearly trembling. Relieved but also cross with himself for being so... _pathetic_. He knows he's overreacting, that there was no reason for the nightmare to upset him so much in the first place.

Vader holds his gaze for a long moment, brow knitted. Looking behind him, presumably at Leia, and back at him again.

Piett is surprised when Vader lays a hand on his shoulder and directs him around the tie.

Luke politely refrains from saying anything as he passes them, Artoo rolling along behind him. The other four sentients in the hangar - Han, Chewie, Leia and Luke - all begin talking amongst themselves. Their voices grow quieter as they move to leave.

The broad wing of the tie-advanced offers a guarded sense of privacy. Vader maintains his grip on his shoulder. Piett stares resolutely at his chest, now unable to meet his eyes. He's still wringing his hands.

"I'm sorry, I don't know why-"

Piett flinches when Vader pulls him forward. He ends up with his arms folded between them, his face pressed against Vader's chest- Vader's arm around his back and his other hand threaded into Piett's hair.

It is... jarring. Comfortable, but jarring. He really shouldn't be surprised by anything Vader does anymore, his expectations have already been subverted so many times.

Vader is warm despite the sphere of cold his very presence creates. His clothing smells of his fighter - the metal, fuel and synth-leather - as well as the trees from the planet the man had been on for the past week.

Piett doesn't know how long they stay like that. Eventually his lingering overwhelm and terror drip away. When Vader releases him he steps back in daze.

The world floods in and his mouth works. He attempts to meet Vader's eyes.

His next words take a few false starts, but he clears his throat and manages to get them out. "You deserve an explanation-"

"Later, perhaps. Come." The hand that had been in his hair comes to rest on the small of his back.

With that they stride off, boots snapping on duracrete.

 

*

 

Later that evening Piett finds his thoughts wandering, despite Vader's presence. He's rinsing off the dish he had used for his dinner when the water running over his hands flashes maroon for an instant.

He feels the tendrils on him immediately and shuts off the water. When he turns he finds Vader considering him from his chair.

Then Vader beckons him over with a nod. "Come here."

Piett dries his hands and walks to him, trying to ignore his embarrassment. Neither he nor Vader are accustomed to showing weakness, though they have already been vulnerable with one another this seems... different. Based in something besides practicality, perhaps.

When he's near enough Vader reaches for his hips, maneuvering him around with the aid of his tendrils. Piett ends up sitting across his thighs, held against Vader's chest, one of his arms around the dark lord's neck. _I suppose my stature is useful, upon occasion._

He senses Vader's amusement and immediately regrets that thought.

A minute passes before he speaks. "This is... pleasant."

"You sound surprised." _I am,_ he thinks. It doesn't matter if he says it aloud, Vader already knows.

Another minute. When Vader continues he sounds vaguely apologetic. "You needn't chastise yourself for the affect your most recent nightmare has had on you. I expect our bonding is to blame."

"And why would that be?"

The muscles in Vader's jaw tense as he considers his answer. "I have read of powers being shared between mates. Given that you were not force-sensitive beforehand the effect would certainly be muted."

Piett shakes his head in confusion. "Nightmares are not a power."

"No. Foresight is."

 _My nightmares as indicators of the future instead of benign visions. Lovely._ "Suddenly this is all much less comforting."

"Indeed..." Vader's gloved hand rubs over his thigh and knee. Possessive. "Yet foresight offers only possibilities, never certainty. We can only ever view the galaxy from our own perspective, and that inevitably warps our understanding of what we see. May that be some consolation to you."

Again they sit in silence. There's a lot more to unpack in Vader's statement. Yet another unexpected development. It's ridiculous to think of himself with _any_ powers remotely related to Vader's, whether they are 'muted' or not.

After a time he realizes he's had his hand laid over the center of Vader's chest. The dark lord's magnificent, baneful heart beating under his palm.

With certainty he decides that the blood Vader had been soaked was not the man's own. _That_ is some consolation.


	6. Sufficient Impairment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Req-fill for PurpleTop on Tumblr. 
> 
> WARNING: NSFW

Five years after the battle of Endor Piett finds himself in a rented house, watching from the doorway as two younglings and their parents make their way across a snowy yard to a speeder.

This biannual trip to New Alderaan has become tradition. Leia wanted Jaina and Jacen to grow up celebrating Alderaan's holidays, particularly the Equinoxes. Luke has accompanied them several times, but not recently.

Lando had commed earlier in the evening, hoping to share in the festivities with his godchildren this year. Han and the younglings had desperately wanted to see the upgrades to Lando's ship, the smuggler and Leia had decided to meet up with their friend and return the following day. As much as he adores the grandchildren Piett won't mind a few hours solitude.

After a minute the speeder pulls off. He lingers, enjoying the bite of the cold air and how his breath fogs, and then steps backwards and pulls the door closed.

He locks it and turns around only to jerk away in surprise with an unintelligible curse. Vader had materialized out of thin air a mere arms length away. _Surely I should have heard him behind me..._

Piett cranes his head back to glare at him and finds the pleased, unpleasant expression of a hunting cat plastered on his features. Unpleasant, but oh so fetching.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" He tries to put on a reprimanding tone, but Vader steps forward, effectively pinning him against the slab of wood. "Oh for goodness sake, they haven't been gone five minutes and you're already-"

"Yes. Terribly clever. And I believe you agree, despite how much you protest." Vader places his palms flat against the door either side of Piett's shoulders.

The position, with Vader so near and towering over him, is affecting. It also calls to mind the night of the gala four years ago when Vader had endeavored to comfort him, in his own way.

Piett's hands are on Vader's chest, warm under his chilled fingers. He doesn't remember putting them there. Then Vader is pressed against him, all muscle hidden under fine fabric, one hand held against Piett's neck as the taller man breathes against his temple.

"I don't know why you bother feigning indignation when you are so easily swayed."

"That's the game, isn't it? You bother sneaking up on me and I bother with my song and dance." Vader chuckles against his temple.

Piett pushes him away, gently. More of a request than anything else. Vader obliges and follows as he makes his way down the hall.

The house is fashioned like something from antiquity, lacking many of the usual modern devices in favor of doors that swing and locks with mechanical keys, among other things. It's charming, if impractical.

Once he reaches the living room Piett retrieves two glasses and a bottle of wine they had brought along. Vader gives him a questioning look, arms folded across his chest.

Piett's misdirection is less than convincing when he answers. "Wine and conversation first. Humor me, we have all evening."

"You've never so openly endeavored to get me drunk before." As he pours the Bourdeshi his lip twitches in thinly veiled amusement. Vader nears and continues, now sounding intrigued. "What are you planning?"

Piett straightens, offering him the glass of emerald green liquid. "You'll find that out soon enough..."

 

*

 

They end up talking for longer than Piett intended- both of them find the poor design of the latest New Republic capital ships a rather engaging topic. Whatsmore the Bourdeshi might have a stronger affect on force-sensitives, but Piett isn't immune to it either.

Vader is still rambling about engine defects and the resultant lack of maneuverability when Piett stands, setting his glass on the caf-table in front of him. Then the other man pauses, studying him.

"Am I now sufficiently impaired for your purposes?" Piett gives him a lopsided smile.

"I don't know why you bother feigning indignation when you are so easily swayed."

With that Vader huffs bemusedly and stands as well, his glass already set aside. The dark lord manages his usual grace, though Piett notices his increased concentration on the simple movement.

He makes his way to the stairs and then up them, Vader several steps behind. Piett can feel the man's eyes on his back. His gaze has always been heavy, nearly a tangible thing. He can already feel his questing tendrils.

As soon as the door is locked behind them Vader's hands are on him, pawing at his waist from behind. When Vader bends down down to kiss his neck he stifles a moan- it's almost enough to make him abandon his plans and proceed with their usual activities. Alas, this is too perfect an opportunity to waste.

Summoning all the self-control he possesses he takes Vader's wrist, again gently prying himself away from the dark lord. This time Vader is less cooperative.

"Patience, dear. I don't want my efforts to go to waste." Vader makes a dubious sound, hands dropping from him regretfully. Piett looks at him and then nods towards the large, solid-looking armchair. "Undress and sit."

Vader's reaction is muted, merely the quirk of a brow and a tilt of the head. Carefully blank with only the barest hint of intrigue. Then the dark lord moves to comply.

Piett takes a moment to collect himself, watching from behind as Vader strips off the tabard and other black garb. After a minute he walks around the bed toward one of his bags. Piett feels Vader's curiosity through their force-bond. It is expected: this is atypical behaviour on his part. He's been careful to keep his thoughts away from his little surprise.

This idea of his had been impulsive. Vader and him have yet to stumble upon something they disagree on, at least in this arena, and that has resulted in increasing boldness on his part.

After searching for a minute Piett finds what he was looking for- hidden away to avoid the offchance of Vader finding it unwittingly. Though he might not have even known what it was. Then again Vader has surprised him regarding such things before...

He pockets the item and stands, bringing the bottle of lube with him as he rounds the bed again, unbuttoning his shirt with his free hand. Vader sits naked in one of the armchairs, as Piett had instructed. Somehow the dark lord still manages to maintain his regal air. So many men are reduced in station when robbed of their trappings, but not him. Never him.

His voice turns somewhat intrigued. "What did you-"

"You'll find out later." With that Piett drops to his knees in front of him, setting the bottle aside.

His gaze lingers on one of the macabre prosthetic legs beside him, the contrasting join of dark metal and pale flesh. After a handful of seconds he meets Vader's gaze again. Vader doesn't move or respond at first, eyes clouded with emotion Piett cannot place even with the help of the bond. Then Vader readjusts, spreading his thighs to give Piett room. The gears and motors in the prosthetics whir softly.

This is perhaps one of the more difficult parts of their relationship, at least from Piett's perspective. These fleeting moments wherein it is obvious he has hit upon a raw nerve or some small, important thing without meaning to. They rarely discuss these occurrences.

"You purchased a toy several weeks ago." _Apparently we won't be discussing it this time either..._

The other man must have noticed when the package arrived after all. Piett had thought it was their protocol droid that had brought it in.

"Yes. Do you know what it is?"

"No. I assumed you were replacing that." Vader nods at the nearly empty bottle Piett had set on

the endtable.

Piett quirks an eyebrow, laying his hand on Vader's thigh and allowing his fingernails to graze the sensitive skin. Vader's only half hard at the moment, but that will be remedied soon enough.

"I did consider replacing the lube, actually." A thought occurs to him and his lips twitch with mischief. "Have you heard of cum-lube?"

Vader's reaction is well worth speaking such ridiculous words out loud. The dark lord blinks at him several times before his brow knits in confusion.

"What?"

Piett quirks an eyebrow in response. "Lube with the physical and aesthetic properties of-"

"No. Absolutely not." Vader's confused expression twists into disgust. "What a distasteful invention."

Piett can't help the laugh that colours his voice. "Everything we've discussed and you're scandalized by this of all things?"

Vader scowls regretfully, as if supremely pained by his next words. "If it would please you-"

"No, I wasn't particularly fond of the idea either." He rises on his knees a little, one hand resting on Vader's thigh and the other trailing absently over his belly.

Vader's eyes go dark and hooded, his hardening arousal twitching with interest. Piett is bombarded with a heady cocktail of emotions, both his own and Vader's shared through the bondpride, lust, intrigue, the more platonic yet still intimate notes of their mutual trust and comfort.

He takes a breath, managing to keep his voice level. Watching Vader intently to gauge his reaction. "I was hoping to try something new."

Vader considers him for a long moment. "And what is it you wish to try?"

"It will be more effective if it's a surprise." Vader gives one of his rare, understated smiles and chuckles lowly. The sounds goes straight through Piett.

The dark lord waves his hand, granting permission. The metal catches and reflects the warm, muted light of the room. He's seen Vader make the gesture countless times- commanding troops, dismissing officers. The humor in seeing the action now is not lost on him.

Satisfied that they've talked quite enough for the time being he stops his teasing, finally taking Vader in hand and stroking him. The muscles of Vader's thigh flex under his other hand and the man makes that purr-like hum Piett adores so much.

Then he leans forward and takes him in his mouth. That purr again, and palatable approval radiating through the bond. He's always desired the sensation too much. His loyalty to Vader had stemmed not only from duty but from an illogical desire to please him. _And yet how I've been rewarded, regardless of how illogical it was at the time._

He bobs his head and sucks, eyes shut, reveling in the simplicity of it. Fully confident in this little skill of his... he'd been popular among the barracks at the Axxilan naval academy for a reason.

After several minutes he releases Vader, now hard himself and panting. He strokes him again and bows his head to mouth and suck around the base of Vader's length and his pubic bone.

He takes his hand from Vader's thigh to grope his balls, and when Piett sucks one and then the other into his mouth Vader makes another appreciative noise.

He spares a glance upwards and finds the dark lord's head thrown back, neck barred and fingers curled against the armrests in pleasure. His chest is flushed, contrasting prettily against the rest of his skin and the scar across the left side of his chest.

Vader must sense his attention because he lifts his head, looking down at him with what can only be called affection.

Piett stifles a noise of his own and drops his gaze, achingly aware of his own arousal now. He undoes his flies with one hand to relieve some pressure, if not the desire to reposition himself so he can rut against Vader's leg. Vader would let him do it too... _patience, patience._

Then he takes Vader in his mouth once more, sucking harder and stroking faster, using more tongue, ever careful to keep his lips wrapped around his teeth. He can feel Vader's eyes on him but doesn't dare look up again. It's too intense. He'd always been able to meet the eyes of the boys in the barracks when he did this to them, but with Vader the thought is usually too overwhelming

Cybernetics whir beside his ear as Vader threads his fingers into his hair. Piett moans. Vader's thigh flexes under his hand again.

The moment hangs, the galaxy condensed down to Vader's solid grip on him and the repetitive motion of his mouth and hand on Vader's flesh. He feels the dark lord tense and sucks hard on his head, tonguing the sensitive spots on its underside

Suddenly Piett releases him, setting back as much as the hand in his hair allows as he squeezes hard around his base.

Vader gives a quiet, hissing sigh as his cock jerks just shy of Piett's lips. He feels his own twitch in sympathy. Of course Vader could have easily held him in place, however the dark lord has always been polite in such matters.

He strokes him as he retrieves the toy from his pocket with one hand. It is a cockring made of black, smooth, elastized material. Perfectly banal as far as sex toys are concerned. After mouthing the join of Vader's thigh and groin he looks up at him, curious to see his reaction.

Vader tilts his head, nonplussed.

Piett smirks as he slides it onto Vader's shaft and works it carefully over his balls. A part of him is tempted to let it snap into place just to see the inevitable reaction that would cause. _He might get properly upset with me then, though it would almost be worth it..._

After he fits it - smoothly - into place he begins stroking Vader again. "Tell me if it becomes uncomfortable-"

"Your concern is unwarranted." The hand in his hair releases it's grip, now petting lightly. "Is this all you had planned?"

"What do you think?" With that Piett takes him in his mouth once more.

 

*

 

His ministrations continue for a long while. In fact a good deal longer than is particularly comfortable for either of them.

Piett's knees and jaw ache, his fingers are pruned from his own spit and the lube. He's trying very hard to ignore the painful throb in his loins.

Vader is not much better off...

Piett's relentless teasing and carefully timed pauses have resulted in oversensitivity and frustration. Or perhaps something more like desperation. _What a rare yet charming emotion on you, my lord._

The dark lord's flush has deepened, his arousal thicker and ruddier thanks at least partially to the cockring. Vader had removed his hand from Piett's head awhile ago. He can hear the creak of leather as Vader continues his restless squirming and digs his cybernetic fingers into the armrest. Initially Vader's tendrils had been absent, but now he can feel the needy caress of the force over his skin.

As Vader sighs and tenses yet again Piett releases him, working his jaw in an attempt to ease it's aching. The dark lord hisses, making less effort to veil his reactions now. Seeing him so undone is well worth any discomfort.

Finally convinced that Vader's self-control is adequately impaired, he stands, leaning on Vader's knee for support. Then he toes his boots off, setting them aside and reaching for his belt. He'd originally planned to tease with this bit too, but he's not sure if he'll be able to manage it

His gaze flicks up to that of his sole onlooker, and Vader stares at him _ravenously_. His eyes dark, hard prick jerking with want.

Piett somehow manages to kick off his pants and maneuver himself onto Vader's lap in mere seconds (the chair is large enough for his knees to slot in alongside Vader's hips), palms against Vader's shoulders. Vader's hands are on him immediately, reaching under his shirt, grasping at his waist. Demanding contact with bruising pressure. The prosthetics are cold. Piett is reminded of the bite of the winter air he had enjoyed earlier that evening.

A moment later Vader's mouth is on his, equally rough and demanding, and Piett angles his head to give greater access. Piett's cock rubs against Vader's abdomen, caught between their bodies, and he presses forward reflexively, seeking more friction. Vader's own cock rubs along the cleft of his ass when he moves. They both moan into each other's mouths.

Piett shivers at the sound of Vader's voice. Drunk on his own pride in having elicited such a reaction. He breaks their kiss to grab the lube, grazing Vader's cock on purpose as he reaches behind himself with slicked fingers.

He's acutely aware of the man's ragged breathing, the rise and fall of his chest. Once satisfied with his own readiness he takes Vader in hand, still reaching behind himself but now watching Vader's face. The dark lord moans again and his eyes close. The flesh in Piett's grip throbs.

Vader moans again and claws at his hips as the head of his cock presses in. Piett bites his lip to keep from making any noise of his own. Vader's hips attempt to buck up into him but Piett leans forward, propping himself up with his other hand on Vader's chest. Then Vader gives an agitated huff.

"Is this what you were planning?"

"Yes..." Piett's voice is breathless, but he smirks. "It's not fair, you know. The effect you have on me. I wanted to level the playing field a bit."

_Wanted to see if I could make you just as desperate as I am..._

Vader's eyes turn dark. Before the man has a chance to continue Piett rocks downwards, letting him slide in up to the hilt. They both gasp, Vader flinching in surprise and reflexively bucking up into him again. With them still pressed flush Piett tenses around him. Vader winces and moans through gritted teeth.

Piett presses his lips to Vader's jaw, sucking lightly at the join of bone and neck just below his ear. Rewarding him for the noise. Vader's fingers are painful on his hips, but he doesn't mind- not in the slightest.

On a whim he drops his head to Vader's shoulder and _bites_ , suddenly inspired to leave marks just as the other man does on him. Vader makes a hoarse sound close to his ear, bucking yet againwantonly searching for friction and release. Neither of them will last once they begin moving.

After sucking at the lovebite he pulls back, eyes flitting over his handiwork. Enough to bruise. Then their eyes meet, Vader's pupils blown and lids heavy.

When he speaks Vader's voice is strained, though still laced with sarcasm. "Do you wish for me to beg?"

Piett blinks at him appraisingly. "No."

Vader is silent for a long moment.

"I would beg for you, if it would please you." The admission is somewhat tentative, though not difficult. Painfully true.

"I know you would." Piett kisses him, and Vader is so gloriously _yielding_.

Finally he begins moving, rolling his hips against Vader's lap. Vader breaks the kiss with a loud, relieved groan. Piett sucks at his jaw again, mumbling encouragements as he rides him. Vader's tendrils skate over Piett as if searching for purchase, too incoherent to form their usual caresses.

As expected Vader's movements turn stuttery almost immediately. Piett takes himself in hand, wrapping an arm around Vader's neck and pressing their temples together as he speaks against his ear. "Go on, finish for me-"

Vader makes a pained noise, managing to meet Piett's grinding with a handful of sharp thrusts. Then every muscle goes taut in climax. Piett strokes himself, chasing after him as the dark lord hisses and pants in the aftershocks, chest heaving. A moment later Piett comes with a groan, spilling over his fist and Vader's abdomen.

Piett winces as he crumples forward, braced against Vader's chest and the armrest, panting as well. Vader gives a low, pleased little hum (presumably at the mess Piett made on him) that sends an errant jolt up his spine, and he winces again.

He's sore and exhausted in the aftermath - limbs turned heavy and unresponsive - but he's certainly satisfied. He can sense Vader is as well.

As Vader withdraws his hands from their vice-like grip on Piett's hips Piett says, lazily, "We should clean up, and get the cockring off you-"

"Soon enough." Vader's fingers trace the marks he left, carefully. Piett doesn't need to see them to

know Vader broke his skin in places. "I did not intend to hurt you."

"You didn't. That was the whole point, to make you lose control a bit."

A pause. "Perhaps that is inadvisable-"

Piett dips his head to Vader's shoulder again, placing another bite over the one he left some minutes prior. Once content the bruise will be nearly as impressive as the ones on his hips he tucks his head under Vader's chin.

"Blood for blood. We're even." He closes his eyes, and swallows. Vader breathes a sigh.

_And my, my, what a song and dance it is that we do for each other._


	7. Failure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alternate take of what happens after the battle of Endor in the C&C verse.
> 
> WARNING: major-character death, angst, hurt/comfort, OOC maybe kinda'
> 
>  

Alarms continue to blare as Piett runs through the _Death Star_ hangar. Vader's tracker isn't working, but Piett can _feel_ him-

Suddenly he notices a shadow on the periphery of his vision, exiting one of the hallways leading to the lifts, and nearly trips over himself as he doubles back and sprints towards the dark lord. He stops with a jerk before he reaches him, mouth ajar.

Vader has the boy in his arms, but the pale, lifeless form shares little resemblance with the beaming youth Piett had studied in holos.

 

*

 

As the rebels down on the moon rejoice in their victory Vader and Piett stand in an infirmary, looking on as the doctors and med droids continue trying to resuscitate their charge.

Piett had known Skywalker was dead as soon as he saw him, but still he had called for medics when they reached the _Devastator_. On his orders they had continued as if the boy were alive. After seeing Vader manage the impossible so many times he had hoped that, just perhaps, Skywalker might manage it this time as well.

It's obvious Vader himself is also injured, though Piett cannot tell how badly. The respirator is damaged-

"Enough." Vader's voice rings through the silence.

As he turns away from the medics they stop and look up, fearing retribution despite the fact that he's already walking out of the room. Piett remains rooted for a moment too long, but then he follows after the dark lord. He is unsure of his own aim in doing so. His eyes remain glued on Vader's back- searching for something familiar and solid to grasp on to. He's afraid of what Vader might do to himself, how he will react.

Finally, they come to a meeting room, and the door snaps shut behind him. Vader goes to the viewport, still silent besides the wheezing respirator.

Selfish fear for the man's well being urges him to speak. "My lord, please-"

"We are not finished yet." Despite the wheeze of the respirator his voice is still solid, its dark tone hinting at the turmoil hidden beneath cloak and helm. "Palpatine is dead- now all of those loyal to him must die. We must take Coruscant from them, we must kill them all-"

As his words crescendo Vader cuts himself off, helm bowed towards the viewport. He steadies himself with a hand against the transparisteel.

Despite feeling guilty for doing so, Piett feels bitter relief. "Yes, my lord."

 

*

 

The grand halls of Imperial Palace are desolate in the aftermath. It had taken months, and a seemingly endless string of battles waged against their own brethren- but they had won. Coruscant is theirs, as well as what remains of the fleet. More than enough to rebuild.

Piett is still in shock. This last victory seems too easy after all they've been through. Then again, the most difficult part had already been finished at Endor...

Blaster fire rings in the distance, but only a couple shots. One of the squads he and Vader brought with them cleaning up the few loyalists that remain. Vader had taken his squads in one way while Piett had brought his in another, in hopes of cutting off any who might try to flee. It hadn't been worth the trouble.

He's alone now, having left his squad to their work. Although this building is unfamiliar to him his steps are sure. He doesn't need his tracker to know where Vader is.

Eventually he comes to a door that leads to a yet grander room-

The throne room. Black marbled pillars that stretch up three stories, windows just as tall that look out on the red and orange sunset, the throne itself on a dais in front of them. Air still thick with all the cruelties perpetrated by its former occupant. But now the throne is empty, and there is no monster. Only a shadow.

Vader stands before the looming throne. He doesn't acknowledge Piett's arrival.

Piett had intended to give him a report and to ask for further orders, but to do so seems suddenly pointless. The door closes behind him as he steps further into the room, hands clasped behind himself. As he nears the dark lord's tension is nearly palatable. Vader is silent- too silent and too still even for him.

Despite the unease he can sense in the other man, now that Piett is with him in this room his shock is giving way to a sickly elation. _Finally he stands where he always should have stood._ And yet still Vader is quiet, save for the ever present hiss of the respirator. He says nothing even as he raises his hand towards the arm of the throne.

Normally Piett would hold his tongue, and yet he finds words tumbling out of his mouth, voice full of conviction that surprises even himself. "You won, my lord. The rest can be fixed in time. You deserve this more than any-"

The hand Vader raised to the throne slashes downwards to his side, fingers curled into claws, and throne splits with a resounding crack that echoes against the ceiling. Piett starts at the sound and takes a step backward, watching with his mouth ajar as it slides apart and crumbles onto the floor.

"No. I rescind my claim to the throne. You will become emperor in my stead."

For a moment Piett can only blink in confusion. "What- what are you talking about? That's ridiculous-"

"What are your orders?" Vader still doesn't look at him as he speaks.

"I- I _can't_ order you..."

Piett goes silent as Vader reaches for the clasps of the helm. First the upper shell and then the top part of the faceplate peeled off, dropped to the floor unceremoniously as Vader steps backwards off the dais. It isn't the first time Piett's seen him without the mask since Endor- his wounds are improved. They've been healing since Palpatine's demise.

His expression is not what Piett expects. Instead of bittersweet triumph or relief he sees only hopelessness. He is so surprised by Vader's actions and obvious emotion that he remains rooted to the floor as the dark lord walks to him.

Vader lowers his gaze and drops to his knees in front of him- landing in an uncharacteristically graceless heap. Piett flinches and takes another step backwards as Vader bows his head. All at once Piett's blood runs cold. The position is so blatantly submissive that it almost physically pains him to witness it.

The dark lord's voice is quiet when he speaks. "I've never fought on my own behalf. I sought to destroy the emperor for my son- before then, for his mother. Now they are avenged, and my daughter is safe. Due to my failure I have no more reason to fight." For the first time in their years together Vader's voice waivers. "So, I _beg_ you, give me orders."

The silence that follows is deafening. Understanding sinks in slowly, piece by piece.

Vader's admission is... overwhelming. This vulnerability is far beyond the scope of anything Vader has shown him before. He doesn't know the way forward either- at the moment all he knows for certain is that he has no wish for Vader to kneel before him, regardless of if he's emperor or not.

Piett drops to his knees as well, hands resting in loose fists on his thighs. Vader finally looks up, meeting his gaze again.

"I could never give you orders, my lord. If you make me emperor in your stead, then so be it, but I will need your help..." He trails off, afraid of what else he might say. To say Vader should carry on because Piett wants him here would be terribly selfish. Again he has come to an impasse, unsure of what exactly their relationship is and what Vader wants from him, even after nearly four years.

A ghost of some other emotion passes over Vader's features. Piett swallows and bites his lip. _We are both alone. Companions in our solitude._

"I need you here- I want you here-" His mouth snaps shut and he looks away, but then Vader is reaching for his shoulder-

Piett allows himself to be pulled forward, closer, and freezes when Vader again dips his head down, this time resting his forehead against Piett's temple. The tusks from the bottom part of the mask's snout dig into his uniform.

After a moment he raises his hand to Vader's shoulder and curls his fingers into the cloak.


	8. Something Rather Important I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Piett neglects to mention something...
> 
> WARNING: crackfic, AUs of AUs

 

Luke had not meant to fall asleep when he sat down, but despite that he finds himself blinking awake, disoriented. The first thing he remembers is that he is on an enemy ship. Then he senses blisteringly cold presence of his father, only an arm's length away and yet distressingly muted compared to the roaring black hole it had always been before. He and Vader are still aboard the _Cerberus_ in an Imperial infirmary, Vader is stable but unconscious. The damaged mask and suit have been removed, though he is still hooked up to a respirator. The sight of his face is still new and unsettling.

These realizations occur in a matter of moments, and then he realizes they are no longer alone-

He jumps to his feet on reflex, but the man sitting on the far side of the med bed looks up at him calmly.

The man nods at the chair Luke just vacated. "Sit, please. I didn't mean to startle you."

Luke's hands clench into loose fists at his sides, but he has little choice but to do as instructed. The other man regards him in silence as the respirator continues rasping.  
The man is Grand Admiral Piett. Luke is plenty familiar with him and his flagship. The grand admiral is nearly as infamous as Vader. On one occasion Luke had barely gotten red squadron away from the grand admiral's ships intact. But despite his reputation as a ruthless and capable commander, and the pompous white and gold regalia he wears, Luke finds him rather unassuming.

After the destruction of the emperor and the _Death Star_ Luke had fled to the nearest rebel capital ship. While he had been trying to convince them to provide medical care and save his father, the _Cerberus_ had appeared out of nowhere and promptly demanded that Lord Vader and Commander Skywalker be transferred over. They'd been assured that even if force was necessary Imperial blasters would be set to stun.

After loosing both the _Death Star_ and Vader's flagship, the _Executor_ , the remaining Imperial ships had been disarray, but upon the _Cerberus's_ arrival they rallied, leaving the already damaged rebel cruiser trapped. Despite warnings from Leia, Han and virtually everyone else Luke had agreed. The force had seemed to urge him to.  
Luke's voice cracks from disuse as he asks him, "Why are you here?"

Piett quirks a brow, hands still folded in his lap. Luke thinks it's a fair enough question.

Then the grand admiral sighs and turns away to study Vader's face.

"I'm... a friend. Perhaps his only friend." Piett raises his eyes to meet Luke's gaze again. "It seemed appropriate that I be here."

Luke senses no deception through the force, Piett seems sincere. But it is still surprising. Again he is reminded that there is much he doesn't know. Over the past months he had wondered if the dark lord still had friends, hobbies, if something of him besides sith lord even existed. At the time he hadn't been able to imagine it, but perhaps that had been foolish.

He doesn't know what else to say, so he looks away. He is overcome with the desire to protect his father from his own men as he had been from the moment they came on board. _He was probably in more danger from my friends back on the other ship._

They sit in uneasy silence, keeping vigil. Luke fights against his own exhaustion. The rebel medics had told him the after affects of Palpatine's force lightening might linger in him for months. He's not looking forward to that.

Eventually Piett meets his gaze again. His voice kind despite the air of distrust still hanging. "There's a free bed the next room over. Go. I'll wake you if anything changes."

At first Luke is leery of the offer, still concerned that the grand admiral has some ulterior motive- but again the force seems to urge to agree. He forces a half-hearted smile and a nod, and stands.

 

*

 

Piett watches the boy leave, then waits thirty seconds to be sure he won't change his mind and come back.

"I don't think he likes me."

The room remains silent as someone answers him from inside his own skull. _'He feels that you are encroaching.'_

" _I'm_ encroaching?"

The side of his mouth twitches up in amusement as he turns away from the door and looks towards Vader's face. Vader's eyes slit open for a moment to find his, then close again.

Piett had known Vader was awake. Luke had not, oddly enough. Vader's son had seemed distracted- overly concerned. Vader's latest injuries were hardly the most serious he had lived through. Besides the usual effects of electrocution the cybernetic controller that aided both his heart and lungs had been damaged, but it could be repaired.

Still unable to speak due to the mask over his mouth and nose, besides the usual ventilation tube in his throat, Vader continues telepathically. ' _You didn't tell him.'_

"No, but I will. When the time is right."

Vader doesn't answer him again. Piett can sense he isn't asleep, but he is still injured and weakened. For the moment Vader seems content to rest, which is both a relief and a concern.

Piett has the distant idea to move to sit on the bed, but he can't bring himself to. Not yet. They'd been too careful for too long. The habits he's developed over the years will die slowly, but die they will.

Vader will recover soon enough. They have time again.

 

*

 

**8 MONTHS LATER...**

 

Solo curses hysterically when he walks in on them. Then he makes an abrupt course correction and heads back out of the _Falcon_. Piett probably has no right to complain, considering how long his luck held out, but he still curses as he hurries to tuck himself back in his pants and scramble to his feet- out of Vader's lap. Too little too late. Vader must not have sensed the smuggler returning.

With a sigh he mutters, "Kriffing hell-"

"Your surprise strikes me as unreasonable, aki."

He gives Vader a glare as the dark lord stands and moves off to some other part of the ship. Thankfully Piett had only been undoing the other man's flies when the unsuspecting smuggler had stormed in, and thus neither of them are particularly disheveled. Piett's blood is already cooling- thankfully, as he has no wish to further embarrass himself with any visible... arousal.

They should have known better. _Piett_ should have known better- but they have been confined to the little Correlian freighter for the past four months, and any opportunities for intimacy had been scarce. _As if that excuses how ridiculously inappropriate it is to sully a group space in someone else's ship, stars._

Even as frustrated as he by the interruption he can't disagree with Vader's words. He'd practically asked for something like this to happen by neglecting to inform the others for so long. He'd still intended to, the appropriate time simply hadn't presented itself.

With another sigh he starts down the boarding ramp to wait for their return.

 

*

 

The smuggler returns after half an hour, this time with Leia, Luke and Chewie accompanying him.

Piett remains as he is, seated on the edge of the boarding ramp with his chin resting on his palm and his fingers curled over his mouth. He's still kicking himself for not getting this over with sooner, surely if he had spit it out before this happened it would have been far less awkward.

Still, Solo's irritated, concerned and somewhat scandalized expression is nearly worth any discomfort. Nearly. Luke looks halfway between incredulous and mortified.

Once the four of them make it to the ramp, the smuggler stops and looks at Leia, giving a pointed nod in Piett's direction.

"Well, are you going to handle this-"

"Han, this isn't a cease-fire negotiation, you can talk to him yourself."

She gives Piett a sideways glance and quirks a brow at him. Piett steels himself, putting on the most polite and apologetic voice he can muster. "You have my apologies, Solo. Our behaviour was inappropriate-"

"Really? I had no idea! All I wanna' know is if there's any other seating in the ship I need to rip out and replace-"

"Han!" Leia slaps Solo's shoulder as Chewie hyucks in laughter, and Luke hides his mouth behind his hand in much the same manner that Piett had been.

Piett gives a little half-shrug and says matter-of-factly, "If it's any consolation: no, there isn't-"

Leia raises a hand as she cuts him off and shakes her head, "Enough! That's not the point. It seems that father neglected to mention something rather important..." Suddenly her brow furrows as she looks up the ramp and then back at him. "Where is he? He didn't run away and leave you to clean this up did he-"

"No, no..." Piett sighs, avoiding her gaze as he answers. "He advised me to mention our..." Another pause. "...relationship, I suppose, numerous times. I told him not to tell you. The fault is mine, not his, it was only fair I be the one to fix it."

They all blink at him for a long moment. Solo's look of confusion deepens. "You _told_ him-"

Leia rolls her eyes and grits her teeth in frustration as she reprimands him again. "Han! Stop-"

Solo waves her off this time and continues. "What, _you_ ordering kriffing _Darth Vader_ around?! What are you, married?!" With the last word Solo throws his hands up and takes a step back, underlining the ridiculousness of the suggestion.

He searches for words but fails to come up with a witty reply. As they all stare at him, he can feel his neck and cheeks going red, betraying him.

Slowly, Luke lowers his hand from over his mouth and shakes his head. "No..."

Chewie says something lowly to Solo in wookiespeak, but the smuggler is so thoroughly unsettled that he makes no acknowledgement.

Only now does Leia look surprised. "You're married?!"

Piett gives another half-shrug and runs his hand through his hair, unable to control the self-placating gestures now that he is so thoroughly uncomfortable with the situation. "Yes..."

"Well..." Leia gives a shrug of her own. "This is unexpected but at least it's out in the open now. How long?"

Another overly long, painful pause. Their eyes grow wider the longer he takes to answer. Then, finally, his voice nearly a whisper. "About a decade now, I suppose-"

Leia and Luke both stand slack jawed as Chewie hoots in disbelief and Solo curses forlornly. "Oh mother of hutts!"


	9. Something Rather Important II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prequel to 'Something Rather Important.'
> 
> WARNINGS: n/a

It is on Piett's first trip to Imperial Center as an admiral that they meet. He, like so many others in the Imperial Navy, has never been afforded the 'privilege' of coming face to face with the dark lord before.

As he stands at Grand Moff Tarkin's side, speaking with one of the other grand moffs, a chill runs up his spine. He turns to see the dark spectre across the palace garden. For the next twenty minutes he is acutely aware of Lord Vader's presence despite doing his best to ignore it. Eventually the dark lord makes his way over to them at Tarkin's behest.

"...Come my friend, I wish to introduce you to my fleet's newest admiral. Lord Vader, Admiral Piett. I'm sure you'll have dealings together in the future. Piett is proving surprisingly useful."

Piett's gaze flicks between the profile of Tarkin's head and the ebon lenses. He dips his chin in a bow. "It's an honor, my lord."

The hollow eyes of the mask remain fixed on him. "Admiral."

 

*

 

In the months that follow Piett often brings the _Cerberus_ to aid the _Devastator_. At first only because they happen to be in the right place at the right time, but later at Lord Vader's own request.

The incidents that led to his promotion seem fated, had seemed so even at the time, and that sense of fate only grows stronger the more events progress.

For seemingly no justifiable reason he is in the dark lord's good graces. Despite the fact that the ship he commands belongs to Tarkin's fleet, the _Cerberus_ is more commonly seen amongst Death Squadron ships. Piett even ends up accompanying Lord Vader on ground missions.

Eventually Vader's reasons become evident. As the dark lord begins making veiled allusions to the Empire's failings and cruelties it is clear he believes Piett sees the same failings, hoping to recruit Piett to his side. Despite the risks Piett aids him.

Their plotting is comfortable for a time, but some fracture in Piett's chest has been worsening ever since that first day in the palace garden. He had not realized what it was at first. Not until now when it is too large and its edges too fragile to mend. All the same, he chides himself for it, attempts to control his thoughts-

Vader discovers it, regardless. To Piett's surprise the dark lord is amiable to all that it entails. More than amiable.

Their first great victory comes when concerns regarding Tarkin's loyalty reach him from the lower ranks. Piett reports his findings not to Imperial Center but to the dark lord himself. Vader tells Palpatine that Tarkin has been positioning himself for a coup, and thus the grand moff is summarily removed from the playing field.

Piett's help in outing Tarkin as a threat to the emperor earns him yet another promotion: this time to the position of grand admiral.

After the dust settles Vader brings him a proposition...

They are wed in secret on the ocean planet of Manaan. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision- unusual for both of them, but considering their recent good fortune it seems almost reasonable. As they walk away from the selkath judge and the view of the sea Piett hangs on Vader's arm. Vader himself is disguised- his clothing brown instead of black, and worn, the mask and vocoder designed to look as if it's for an entirely different species.

Piett isn't disguised, but neither of them fear discovery. They have been careful, and Manaan is well known for its unusual laws and political views. Even faced with the Empire the planet remains an unbiased party trying to rise above the common squabbles of the galaxy.

The following years pass quickly. They evade detection with ease. There are many small victories, but no great ones. They have only one chance to end Palpatine, and with that one chance they must succeed-

Then Vader's errant son is discovered. Even as their agreements are strained and their careful planning crumbles Piett cannot fault Vader for his foolishness.

He trusts that all will come right in the end. He only hopes they might all somehow make it out alive...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Often when I'm writing I end up writing quite a lot of exposition so that I have a very firm grasp on what's going on, but that exposition is usually excessive once the piece is finished and I delete it.  
> In this case I felt the original oneshot read better without the lead in, but I liked the first scene too much to loose it entirely, thus: prequel fic! xD


End file.
